


Fool Dreamers

by sugarspuncoeurls



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Backstory, Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24745981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarspuncoeurls/pseuds/sugarspuncoeurls
Summary: Before she was a hero, she had been a warrior. A hunter. A sister. A girl, dreaming simply of a better world.Of all the people who could have understood that, she didn’t expect the foremost to be a prince.
Relationships: Hien Rijin & Warrior of Light
Kudos: 10





	Fool Dreamers

**Author's Note:**

> First completed fic in over a year, first posted in at least a couple years, and first fic for this fandom. A lotta firsts lol. Feedback is appreciated! Find me on tumblr under the same username. Enjoy!

She should have seen this coming. Could have, if she had heeded Leveva’s advice and continued practicing her astromancy in the midst of her conjury. Then again, perhaps the other woman had seen that she wouldn’t, and only spoken so she could, however subtly, rub it in her face upon her next visit to Ishgard. It sounded like something she would do.

Either way, she felt the regret of her oversight keenly now, the gaps between her fingers itching for the knife-edges of her cards as she held her opponents in her sights, missing the weight of an astrometer against her back.

She came out here, a half malm away from Mol Iloh, seeking time away from the boisterous celebrations happening in the village. It had been all just a touch too much, after so many years away. The Scions could be lively, but they could not compare to the Xaela clans at the dawning of Spring. And at the time, near a quarter of them were packed within the boundaries of the Mol’s small encampment, still basking in the highs of a hard-won victory.

So, Odzaya left, avoiding the light of the bonfires, the dance floor, the sounds of merrymaking emerging from every yurt. Only one saw her before she vanished: Organa, who shooed her on with a knowing smile and a finger to the lips that she playfully returned. She found a shallow plateau, one that reminded her of the larger one over Reunion’s proper, and settled with the tastes of buuz and warm tea still on her tongue, the stars above already in her sights. A bell passed, mayhap two, as she sought to refamiliarize herself with constellations that for the last eight years she had only seen from the perspective of one from Eorzea. Then she was duly interrupted.

“And what, pray tell, is the great khagun doing out here by her lonesome?” she heard from behind her, and looked over her shoulder to see, unexpectedly, the familiar dark forest green of the Buduga. Lower-ranking members, the three of them, by the way they stood, obviously too big for their britches, and Daidukul nowhere in sight. She felt a familiar simmer of annoyance start low in the pot of her belly at the sight.

“Seeking a small reprieve from the festivities,” she answered coolly, twisting in their direction with a casual air. “And you all?”

One of them, rosy-skinned with flames for hair, smirked condescendingly. “Looking for you, of course, dear daughter of the Dawn and Dusk.” She sniffed. Was that her new title, then?

“We have a small favor.” Another, skin bluer in tint, a sleek mane of pale bark-brown tumbling down his neck, took a lanky step forward. Instinctively, Odzaya’s hands tingled, aether building and spreading to her extremities in an instant.

“To ask?” she calmly guessed.

“To fulfill.” The third, his skin violet-brown, short blue hair in a coif that accentuated his chiseled features. “Eldest Daidukul could not be here himself, due to the injuries he sustained in the Naadam.” His eyes, pale silver and ringed in cobalt, narrowed. “Injuries _you_ suffered him.”

She shrugged, unbothered by the hint of hostility in his tone and face. “Such are the stakes when one chances for the Throne. Surely you as warriors know this.”

“Nevertheless, we have come in his stead, to fulfill that which we know he would desire.”

 _They come without his knowledge, then,_ she thought, catching the way of their wording. _They act on their own._ “And that would be…?” she prompted, her brow lifting in time with the recesses of her magic.

“Poor warriors are we who failed to protect our eldest from harm, especially from that of someone clearly _lesse_ _r_.” The inflamed one spit out the last word as one would a bloody, too-loosened tooth. “‘Tis a failing for which we plan to atone.”

She sighed to herself. _Why are we always so dramatic a people?_ “Look, _men_ ,” she began, and struggled not to apply _too_ much sarcastic emphasis on a word, herself. “If you wish to contest my claiming of the ovoo and the subsequent privilege of being named khagun, then feel free. But it should be done at a proper time of day, among proper witnesses, yes?” She used an upturned hand to indicate the plains around them, empty but for wildlife, the wind, and the stones of which she mentally noted the positions. “However much the land comes alive during this time of year, I do not believe it counts as one.”

“There need not be proper procedures taken for an improper khagun,” the sleek-haired one sneered. “You are _false_ , Odzaya Malaguld, as false as you were the first time you claimed blessings from the Sun, and we will prove it by besting you here and now.” He grinned. “There will be witnesses enough to see when we present your head to our khan at the Da– _ah!_ ”

A small stone, no larger than her thumb, pelted the center of his forehead, stunning him silent. “Thank the Mother,” she muttered, rising to her feet and brushing stray grass from her rear, her stave simultaneously manifesting in her unoccupied hand. “You’ve all spent far too much time amongst the Oronir,” she said, louder. “Bloody orators, the whole lot of you. The Buduga _I_ knew were at least aware enough to know when they were being ignored.”

“The woman uses her magicks!” the inflamed one hissed to his brothers. “Be on your guard!”

“Probably for the best,” she agreed, grabbing their attention. “The only parts of you covered are your arms, legs, and private parts.” Another stone, slightly larger than the last, she sent at one’s bare stomach, just to prove her point. _At least_ _ **that**_ _has stayed the same in the last_ _eight years,_ she joked to herself _._ Still, Odzaya kept her stance open, her shoulders loosened, her legs relaxed. Her stave she planted into the ground, presenting it more as a walking cane than a weapon. “Are you sure about this?” she asked them, clucking her tongue in skepticism. “Methinks you might be a touch out of your depth.”

“White-scaled witch! Worry not for the warriors who will soon drink of your blood!” The blue-haired one drew his spear and rushed her, only to be taken off course as a blast of wind knocked him back. He grunted as the skin of his left side, catching the brunt of the air’s force, opened in a scattering of paper-thin cuts.

“Must have gotten that one from Daidukul,” she chuckled, referring to his epithet. “It was always a favorite of his.”

“Do not speak the eldest’s name!” The sleek-haired one, wiping the dirt from his forehead, drew daggers from his belt and charged. He missed the rise of the sizable stone at his back until it hit him there, sending him sprawling to the grass with a skid.

They were younger than she thought; young, or exceptionally unskilled. No strategy, no eye for their surroundings. They were little better than a trio of rampaging dzo, so uncoordinated were their efforts. She remembered seeing them during the Naadam; they had remained at the rear, offering support to their clan’s more seasoned members. Now she knew why. Warriors, they mayhap were, but infantile ones, untested outside of Bardam’s ancient trials. Excessively passionate and daringly dim. She smiled to herself. _Little_ _worse_ _than me, all those years ago._ “How old are you all?” she asked, suddenly curious, leaning lightly on her staff, her tail wrapping lightly around it, the weight of her locs shifting as her head tilted, her earring tinkling with the movement. She tucked one vine-like strand of pink hair behind a fanned ivory horn.

“Old enough to know well your crimes, False Sun,” the inflamed one (what were their names, anyhow?) snarled. He made another attempt to enter her orbit, only for the wind to send him spiraling back to his comrades. His grimace deepened.

“My knocking your eldest brother _flat_ is not a crime,” she corrected. “Be thankful that was all he suffered.” Gods know she had stayed her hand with no small effort as her stave had connected like a pole-arm to his neck, the sharpened adornments cutting deep into his shoulder.

“Thankful?!” He scoffed. “Thankful for some arrogant _imposter_ of a Xaela pretending to be one of us, only to eschew our ways and steal the Throne from those to which it rightfully belongs? A _woman_ who brought _foreigners_ into our sacred rites, making a mockery of centuries of tradition?” The sneer returned to his face, uglier than before. “You are a usurper, Malaguld, a conniving succubus who slithered her way into Illustrious Brother Magnai’s bed, then left him shamed as you crossed the seas, only to return and rob us of our home.” Odzaya felt her eyes widen when he stepped forward, spine straight as an arrow, his branch-thin chest puffed as a pissed halgai. “That day you fell from the Dawn Throne, the land should have drank of your life as well as your blood. As what should have occurred today.”

“No doubt it was her foul magicks that saved her,” the blue-haired one drawled, drawing off of his companion’s confidence. Beside him, their sleek-haired brother joined them.

“No matter,” he declared. “She will not escape her fate this time.”

Odzaya eyed them each in turn, absorbing their accusations with pursed lips. Her stave remained at rest in the grass, supporting her weight, tuned to the aether swirling deeper in the earth, connecting her to a small vestige of its presence, warm and thick. She closed her eyes, breathing in, and felt it in the air, frissons that bypassed clothing and skin and settled in her bones.

She laughed. Great, resounding bursts that left her throat and made her small body fold unto itself with the force. She snorted, probably; hiccuped, definitely, the natural abrasion of her voice growing in time with her mirth. When she went to cover her mouth – because by the Sun the looks on their faces could have melted the ground at her feet – it somehow only made it worse.

“You laugh?!” The inflamed one looked so livid she swore his hair began moving, licking locks seeming to flit about his head like the fires they resembled. The others, predictably, were calmer, but their faces were no less stormy.

“Apologies, warriors,” she wheezed. “I am merely surprised.” Another hitch found its out of her mouth, and she finally sought to calm herself enough to remember how to breathe and speak. “I am sorry,” she said again, and that time it was comprehensible. She continued, straightening, her staff still held tight in her grip. “You just caught me unawares. No idea had I that such a tale had been woven in my absence.” And what a tale it was, she thought, containing small smatterings of truth cushioned by enough fluff and drama to impress even Ishgard’s High Houses. _To think I am that dastardly_ , she thought, giggling once more to herself. ‘ _Tis almost impressive_ _._

“A ‘tale’ that tells the history of your arrogance and treachery, Raen witch!” the sleek-haired one yelled. “A history that failed to put you in your proper place when it should have. We will not allow it to happen a second time!” At his cue, he and his brothers retook their stances, weapon edges a gleaming threat under the moonlight.

She snorted again. “I don’t suppose you will allow me to tell my side?”

“So you can fill our heads with lies and empty slander?” the blue-coiffed one rumbled. “We think not.” Lowering his body into a crouch, lance pointed at the ready, she saw the winding of the coils in his legs, preparing to launch him forward...

“A shame. I, for one, was looking well forward to hearing more.”

...before he stumbled to a stop just as he began to lift off, shocked as they all were to hear a voice not among their own speak. The mystery did not last as Odzaya turned in the direction of a movement out of the corner of her eye, only to see a bristling tail of ebon hair appear over the edge of her small plateau, soon followed by the now-familiar visage of one smiling Doman prince.

“Hien?” she murmured, at the same time the Buduga trio exclaimed, “Fire Walker!”

“Fellow warriors,” the Hyuran man greeted them. With obvious ease, his arms pulled him up over the lip of the plateau, where he rose and genially approached them, his fur-trimmed yellow dogi bright against the deepening blue of the night. To the trio he lifted a friendly hand; to her, she noted, surprise making her eyes widen slightly, he gave a shallow but notably respectful bow. “Lady Khagun,” he addressed her, and after hearing the title spoken with such insulting abandon over the past several instances, hearing it in such a distinctly reverent tone threw her, enough that she failed to react in any kind of appropriately timed manner. Hien, thankfully, moved on before it could be made obvious, though not before she thought she caught an amused quirk in his grin. “Quite the interesting gathering we have here tonight,” he said, the words and his expression clearly implying curiosity. He made a point of eyeing the boys’ unsheathed weapons. “And lively.”

To Odzaya’s continued surprise, the boys froze, then scrambled to compose themselves, their bloodlust disappearing as quickly as their weapons lowered in the next heartbeat. “We were, ah, having a discussion with the khagun, Brother Hien,” the inflamed one fumbled a reply. Hien nodded.

“I heard this discussion.” The trio blanched, their colorings seeming to reduce to near-stark white. Hien maintained his grin, as well as his approach. “Or part of it, at least. ‘Twas a truly fantastic tale you had to tell of our khagun.” One thick, scarred eyebrow lifted to his bangs. “A pity that you refused us to hear her version.”

“We wished not to hear her lies, Fire Walker,” the sleek-haired one boldly asserted. “You know not her reputation, the damage she has wrought!” He glared at her. “Comrades we know you are, but she is not to be trusted.”

“I see.” Hien crossed his arms, his expression contemplative. “Forgive my ignorance, gentlemen, but these are rather serious accusations, are they not? And not made lightly, nor in mere idle gossip, as you three took the initiative to seek out Odzaya Khagun with them in hand, yes?”

It was still very odd to hear someone say her full name and new title; she blinked when she heard it leave his lips, altered slightly by his Doman dialect, and caught the corner of his gaze once more when she looked at him. That time, the quirk of amusement at the edge of his mouth was obvious to her sight, and she wondered what it meant.

“Correct, Brother Hien.” The inflamed one nodded vigorously. “Eldest brothers Magnai and Daidukul could not be here, due to prior responsibilities. No doubt _they_ would have, otherwise.”

“Aye, perhaps,” Hien spoke, nodding in seeming agreement. He lifted his gaze to them. “And do you all think that, given the severity of these matters, they would have handled them thus?”

“Ye-” The inflamed one’s mouth shut before his reply could be completed, his gaze suddenly unsure. The other two, as well, finally seemed to take stock of the situation as it stood. The three of them, members of a losing clan, weapons drawn with obvious intent, and her, the new khagun, alone and a malm away from the nearest settlement.

The laws of the Steppe could be and were often few and far between. The laws that existed, however, were understood to be absolute. And one such law forbade the forceful removal of a khagun without due process.

Even a trio of rampaging dzo could see where they had faltered. Odzaya let loose a small smile.

“I am afraid you have landed yourselves in quite the cavernous pit, gentlemen,” Hien continued, leveling them with a calm but assertive look. “Not only have you taken it upon yourselves to act in the name of your khans without their express permission, you have used this false authority to attempt what I am afraid can only be called assassination. Not only of the rightful representative of the Xaela, but of a member of the clan to which I am so honorably bound. Not only a leader or comrade, but a friend.” Abruptly, the prince’s stance changed, hardened almost imperceptibly, and Odzaya, for the first time, noted his positioning: directly between herself and her offenders. When next he spoke, his tone, too, was different, a note of depth and intensity that had been utterly absent before. “ _Foreigner_ I may be, but I cannot, in good faith, take such brazen moves lightly.” A distinctive click sounded in the windswept quiet, and she noted the katana looped through his obi, the fingers he had wrapped around the hilt, and the thumb that had partially, near-imperceptibly loosed the blade from its sheath, revealing just a hint of glimmering steel. “What say you, warriors?” he asked, deceptively nonchalant.

If the young men before her had blanched previously, they fair bleached now, their gazes locked on that blade. Odzaya looked at Hien herself, no small measure of surprised and impressed.

And then he met her gaze, for just a moment, just out of the corner of his eye, and winked, his mouth turning upward.

 _Ah._ She schooled her own reflexive smile before it could become visible, and tailored her expression into that which she only used when dealing with those with particularly hard skulls. Stepping forward, she made a show of laying her hand over the hilt of Hien’s katana, covering his bare, calloused fingers with her own. She eyed the three young men, exuding a diplomatic calm. “Mayhap you’d be willing to consider my previous suggestion now?” They startled at her voice, eyes still wide as their gazes shifted from the prince to her. Still shell-shocked enough to momentarily forget the hate they were meant to be spewing. She took advantage. “You obviously feel strongly about the new status quo that has been established on the Steppe. You deserve to air those grievances. Agreed?”

They looked at one another, then at her. Nearly revived their tirade, she thought, before their gazes fell once more to the barely-visible shine of Hien’s blade. “Aye,” one finally answered gruffly.

“Then approach your khan,” Hien declared, stepping forward ‘til he was at her shoulder. “Make your case. And if supported, proper motions can be made before her, as witnessed by the appropriate parties.” He looked down to regard her briefly. “Something Odzaya Khagun suggested ere your conflict began, if I recall.”

Then he’d been present for longer than they realized, Odzaya thought, lifting an eyebrow, before focusing on the trio. There was more reluctant agreement on their side, in the form of shuffling sandaled feet, and weapons that were finally put away. Hien seemed to take it as a signal; as quickly as his intensity appeared, it vanished, and the young lord regained his genial smile as his blade disappeared back into its sheath so quickly one wondered if they had even seen its initial flash of light.

“We will do this,” the blue-haired one declared. To his credit, he looked at least partly chastised, as did his brothers as they took a definitive step back. “Thank you for your council, Fire Walker.” He hesitated a moment, then, and with even more reluctance than before, met her gaze. “And yours, khagun,” he added, low enough that they only heard it because it carried on the breeze she still controlled.

“Eldest Brother Daidukul still wants you with us, samurai,” the inflamed one declared. “Our loss in the Naadam does not change this.”

Hien simply nodded. “A matter for another time, perhaps.”

“A time that will come soon,” the sleek-haired one vowed, to the prince’s easy amusement. Then, in sync with his brothers, he stiffly bowed; his gaze found hers as they rose. “‘Til next time.” Only the slightest hint of that now-familiar sneer, no doubt reduced to avoid another glimpse of Hien’s blade, as well as any more stones to the face or wind shears to the extremities. Odzaya smiled.

“Tell Daidukul and Magnai I liked the story. T’was nice to hear a gist of all that has been said of me these summers past.”

A grunt was his reply, and her smile widened. Then she and Hien watched as the Buduga warriors began their trek back across the plains, carefully bypassing Mol Iloh. When it became clear there would be no sudden backtrack, Odzaya sighed and allowed her stave to dissipate. “Well…” When she looked up, Hien was watching her, the amused grin she caught on his lips now out for the world to see. She matched it. “That was fun.”

“Certainly eventful.” Unexpectedly, he pointed upward. “Will that still be necessary, do you think?”

She followed his finger. “Ah.” She sent a small wave of her aether to the sky; mere moments later, the ground shook as a boulder – wide enough for Gosetsu to comfortably seat his rump on – hit the ground several fulms away, mere ilms from where the Buduga trio had previously stood. “I suppose not,” she said, smiling at the black brows that rose near to Hien’s hairline. “Thankfully, I did not need it.”

“Full glad am I that you did not!” he chuckled. “Though I suspect it may have offered more effective support than myself or my measly blade.”

“Tis the thought that counts, my lord,” she replied, her smirk teasing. “Besides, rocks cannot spout ancient Auri law. It was impressive to hear.”

“The praise should go to Cirina. I must thank her once more for those weeks she stayed by my sickbed, entertaining what certainly must have seemed an endless spiel of questions.” Hien looked, smiling absently, in the direction the Buduga trio departed. “My idea to petition the Xaela clans to aid in Doma’s liberation came shortly after I awoke on the Steppe; it did not take long, after all, for me to see the strength of your people. I knew from the first, however, that I would stand little chance of convincing anyone without proper knowledge – and respect – for Xaelic history and customs. So, once my injuries allowed me to remain conscious for longer than a bell, I plead with the Mol to educate me; and Cirina, being the khatun’s granddaughter, as well as having essentially taken on the role of my caretaker, became my primary teacher.”

Odzaya lifted a dark pink brow. “And here I thought you spent all that recovery time stuffing yourself with boortsog.” Hien laughed.

“The Mol made idleness more tempting than I care to admit. Cirina, however, turned out to be quite the pedagogue. Once I was well enough to move, she declared I would only continue to learn if I began reconditioning my body in conjunction. Fortunately, I did not need to be convinced.”

Odzaya fairly beamed with pride. “I always knew she had a knack for instruction. _She_ always said she was too soft-hearted.”

“She said she learned her oh-so-effective ways from another. Her older sister, I believe.”

Her grin froze, for just a moment. Then softened. “Did she?”

“Aye.” Hien eyed her, his smile like her own. “When I asked who she was, she insisted it mattered not, that the young woman in question had left the Steppe long ago.” He watched her, his gaze turning gently scrutinizing.

Odzaya let out a breath. “So she had,” she replied, shrugging. “Probably for the best.” Hien chuckled.

“Oh? And why is that?” Odzaya snorted at him.

“Rather sure you heard, eavesdropper.” She went over the Buduga trio’s seemingly endless list of scathing epithets. “She was a troublemaker. An impostor. A would-be usurper.”

“A witch?” Hien arched an eyebrow. “A succubus?”

“At least the last two show some creativity,” she muttered, smirking to herself.

“‘Tis certainly an interesting interpretation of one woman’s character.” Hien crossed his arms, his expression pondering, his head at a tilt. “Quite different from the impression I received from Cirina, if they indeed speak of the same person.”

“And how did she describe her?” she asked, admittedly curious.

Hien grinned. “In a word? As a hero.”

 _A_ _memory at her subconscious, of Mol Iloh in a different place and time. Of her_ _soaring over_ _those familiar_ _red_ _-draped_ _white-clothed_ _roofs on yol-back, only to land and be immediately pounced upon by a half-dozen_ _tiny_ _bodies. One always hung back, equal parts patient and shy, until she_ _approached_ _herself_ _with outstretched arms_ _. Only then would little_ _Rina_ _run up to_ _and into them_ _, pale, black-scaled_ _hands_ _gripping her_ _shoulders_ _, her laug_ _hter_ _a_ _soft,_ _high-pitched chirp,_ _like a bird,_ _as she spun them around._

Odzaya smiled. “Cirina always had an active imagination. She also used to swear I looked like a flower.”

“I can see that,” Hien said, to which she shot him a tolerant look. “Is her interpretation of you so far-fetched?” he asked, sounding skeptical.

“I was young, no older than twenty summers, and thought I could change the world.” She chuckled, looking out over grassy plains. “ _My_ world, at least. I wasn’t heroic, just arrogant and naive.” She tossed her head in the direction of the Dawn Throne, where three soaring figures, dull white against the ink-blue sky, could be seen. “Like them.”

“They were certainly passionate about their views. And more than a little belligerent.” Hien looked at her, curiosity stamped openly across his wide brow. “Were you the same at their age?”

“Belligerent? No.” She smirked. “Could I pick a fight every now and again, sometimes against senior clansmen? Sometimes.”

“So, an occasional troublemaker you were, then? Making their tale at least partly true?”

Odzaya tipped her head, considering, before meeting Hien’s expectant gaze with a half-sheepish shrug. The young lord immediately laughed, and she could not help the small giggle that she released alongside him.

“My interest in this tale continues to grow!” he exclaimed. “I daresay I will end this day unsatisfied for not having heard it in its entirety.”

Odzaya jerked a thumb in the general direction of the palace. “The boys haven’t gotten too far. Even if you miss them along the way, you can always take a friendly night flight to the Dawn Throne yourself and ask the skilled orators to recite it for you.” She allowed a hint of sarcasm to enter her tone. “The ‘Fire Walker’, I am sure, would at least be welcome.”

“Hmm.” Hien made a show of stroking his bearded chin. “A tempting offer. The view from the Dawn Throne _is_ quite spectacular.”

“Beats mine, I’d bet.” Odzaya stretched her arms overhead, sighing with relief as her spine cracked; little surprise, it always seemed to stiffen when she spoke of the past. Then, with a small burst of wind-aspected aether, she leapt up, lightly planting and plopping herself down atop her new boulder, swinging her legs and tail and tossing her locs over her shoulder. She looked down at Hien, who grinned up at her amusedly.

“Is this a sign that my presence is no longer welcome?”

“More a signal that your duty is complete.” She smiled at him. “I thank you kindly for your assistance, Hien. I have a feeling that encounter would not have gone as peacefully as it did without your intervention.”

Hien stepped forward, his hand finding the boulder’s surface as he examined it. “Were you truly going to drop this on them if they had not kept their distance?”

“No,” she answered honestly. She paused. “Perhaps. But not to smash them.” As he chuckled, she shrugged. “A hindrance, it served as, little more. Though I am a bit disappointed they never noticed it.” _Their faces would have been_ _ **priceless**_ _._

“You and me, both,” Hien replied, no doubt imagining something similar as his smile turned toothy. He removed his hand from the boulder and took a step back. “Full glad am I that I could be of help, khagun, however far you were from having need of it.” He gave her a princely bow, obviously done in jest but somehow still seeming sincere in its execution. As he rose, his gaze matched. “One can only hope there will not be a reoccurrence.”

“I can always find more wind and rocks,” she joked. “And more boulders. Though it may prove difficult to find any more foreign princes with a penchant for knightliness and ancient Auri law.”

Hien shook his head, looking profoundly disappointed. “And here I was led to believe that this land provided all one could ever need.” Odzaya giggled.

“Will you be attending to the Dawn Throne, then? Something tells me they might be lacking for one, as well.”

“That depends,” said prince replied, one expressive eyebrow rising. “Would one still be appreciated here?”

Odzaya briefly contemplated, then answered by scooting her bottom to the right of her boulder and patting the empty space that emerged. “If he does not mind a not-quite-so-spectacular view.” For some reason, she wasn’t quite ready to return to her lonesome just yet. Hien grinned up at her so widely his eyes crinkled.

“From where I am standing, I do believe that may be arguable.” And before she could properly reply, or even parse his meaning, he took her invitation. Odzaya felt the boulder shift slightly as Hien walked around, climbed aboard, and settled himself beside her, legs crossed, the warmth of the bare skin of his arm minutely felt through the sheep’s wool of her coat. “Surprisingly comfortable,” he said admirably. “You found quite the quality stone, my friend.”

“Only the best for those I threaten to squish,” she japed.

“Such care taken, even for her enemies,” Hien chuckled. “Perhaps this dreaded succubus is not so horrid a figure, after all.”

Odzaya huffed in amusement, still finding herself tickled by the Buduga trio’s tale. “Or perhaps she is just seducing you into believing such. I have a history of that, apparently.”

“Far worse fates I can imagine, if so,” he replied, and his smile turned slightly cheeky again. “I should think Illustrious Brother Magnai felt a similar way.”

Odzaya snorted so hard, her nose burned. “ _Magnai_ never feels anything, except pride and perhaps constipation due to the stick up his arse. Even if he did, it’s not as if we were ever truly together. Merely…” She stopped herself abruptly, realizing what she was revealing. She glanced at Hien only to find him watching her, his eyebrows arched, his mien open and unobtrusive. And dreadfully curious. Odzaya shifted her sights to the stars overhead, wondering, briefly, if her astromancy would allow her to turn back time just enough to retake her words. No such luck most like (another point in Leveva’s favor), and feeling the proverbial maw open at her feet, ironically about the size of the boulder she excavated, she released a surrendering sigh. “Merely betrothed,” she finished, lamely.

“Ah,” Hien said simply, nodding. The utter neutrality of his tone only served to make the unspoken question of “and the difference is...?” all the more obvious.

“Our union was never consummated,” she explained, before he could find a polite way to ask or awkwardly tread around it. “I left before it could be. A mutual decision.”

“I see. Interesting; by the Buduga’s reckoning, the decision was yours and yours alone, with Magnai little more than a jilted lover left to salvage the remains of said pride in your absence.”

“Magnai was fine,” she said immediately, attempting to picture the Oronir brokenhearted. It failed to come together in her mind’s eye. “It would have been a simple matter of him picking someone else to replace me.”

Hien lifted his brow once more. “Someone else?”

“Do you remember Dorbei very loudly lamenting during our journey back to the village after the Naadam? Something about my ‘having my pick of the Steppe’?” At the prince’s nod, she shrugged. “He wasn’t entirely joking. A particular perk of being khagun is the privilege of choosing romantic partners.”

Hien made an expression of recognition, then grinned. “Quite the perquisite, that is.”

“So long they are not previously, exclusively bound to another, anyone can be chosen. And one’s fortune is considered great if they are.” Odzaya set her eye on the Dawn Throne, her brow furrowing in remembrance. “That year, my twentieth summer, Magnai won the Naadam for the Oronir. And chose me.”

 _M_ _ol Iloh, those same comforting_ _red_ _-draped roofs,_ _even if she no longer ha_ _d_ _the means to see them from above_ _._ _She saw_ _Cirina, no longer so small_ _a bird_ _, no longer able to fit in her arms quite so easily,_ _but_ _still running up to her like she always_ _had_ _, only_ _more_ _carefully,_ _as if_ _her big sister_ _would break if_ _startled or_ _handled too roughly._ _Still smiling, but there was something different behind it, urgent in her grass-green eyes._ _Od_ _zaya knew not what it was until another figure_ _had_ _made itself known behind her, tall and imposing, clad in dark leather_ _and darker fur_ _, the blonde tips of his hair and the gold of his_ _gaze_ _catching and_ _binding_ _the sun_ _light_ _that beat down on them from a too-blue sky._ _And as she had risen,_ _cautiously_ _, to face him, hands speckled with dirt, still clutching the herbs she had plucked from the earth, that gaze had been strangely_ _gentle_ _._

“I rejected him, the first time,” Odzaya said, smirking. The moon, large and round and flooding the land with silver, reminded her of the sun that day, how it had coated her back with warmth and heated the dirt under her hands and turned the backs of her eyelids yellow, until Magnai’s shadow had blocked it all out. “I thought it was a joke, or a trap. But then he came back, insistent that he was serious.”

“What manner of trap might it have been?” Hien asked.

“In the aftermath of the Naadam, victorious clans have been known to target those who previously opposed them on the battlefield. Sometimes, it is a simple matter of establishing dominance, ridding them of whatever compulsion they may have to object to the land’s decision. Other times, those opposing clans are near-decimated, people and all, as a means of eliminating future competition.”

“An effective if not ruthless tactic,” Hien commented. Odzaya nodded in agreement.

“T’was not a very common practice until recently. Some of the abandoned villages you see scattered across the land are the last vestiges of raids that occurred over the last two epochs.” Tilting toward Hien, she indicated one such set of remains, far off in the distance, only noticeable by the skeleton of a watchtower. Hien momentarily leaned close to see it, his eyes squinting.

“They remind me of the ruins I could see from the palace as a boy, when I scaled the outer walls to survey the lands beyond,” he remarked. “Hollowed out buildings, the pillaged ruins of small towns and caravans.” He sighed and leaned back. “I am almost loathe to say it, but the tactics are similar to those the Empire employs. Seeing such disaster, with no certain way of knowing if the people themselves survived; it certainly does well to lower morale.”

“So it does.” She pointed to another landmark, this one far easier to see due to the lantern’s light that separated it from the night. “‘Tis not all bad, though. The beacons one finds all over? Those were remains, as well. A number of clans, most notably the Qestir, repurposed them over the years, that they might serve travelers seeking sanctuary and safety from the wildlife. Or opportunistic clansmen.”

“Do they not all eventually lead to Reunion?” At her nod, Hien smiled. “The one place on the Steppe where violence is prohibited. Not a coincidence, I’m sure.”

“Correct.” Odzaya smiled, as well, pleased by his deduction. The origin of the lanterns had ever been one of her favorite stories. Lights in the dark, and all that.

“Ingenious in its practicality,” the prince said. “And beautiful in its symbolism.” His smile sobered and softened in equal measure, his gaze turning inward. “I wonder if perhaps…” He trailed off.

“Perhaps…?” Odzaya repeated. Hien came back to himself, then shook his head. To her surprise, he looked a touch sheepish.

“Bah, nothing. Just getting ahead of myself, as I am sometimes wont to do. One step at a time, after all.” He looked at her. “Tis truly a wonderful way to honor the past while accounting for the future. I imagine, however, that you wished not for your own clan to share such a fate, thus your caution when Magnai approached you.”

“Mm,” she confirmed with a hum. “That year, I entered the Naadam as the only representative of the Malaguld; the first, apparently, in decades. As you can probably guess, we are of the more peaceful clans, wholly uninterested in the goings-on of constant warfare. We are also one of the few clans that accept Raen members, and most of ours are refugees, former citizens across Yanxia and Hingashi displaced from their homes in the wake of the Garlean invasion.” Suddenly recalling, Odzaya turned to him, her expression eager. “Some of them are Doman; they’ve wished to speak with you.”

“Aye, they approached me during the celebration. We spoke for some time; a number of them wish to accompany us to join the Liberation Front.” Hien’s eyes were bright with the prospect. “I will have to thank your khatun for granting them sanctuary all these years. It means more than words can say to know they found the safety of another home, and even more that they have not lost hope for their former.” His expression then turned curious. “Tell me: are the origins of the Raen in your clan, then, a representation of your own?”

 _More_ _roofs,_ _tho_ _ugh these_ _were_ _not_ _draped with red_ _. Rather, they were_ _looped over and around by swathes of rich plum purple._ _To_ _the Xaela, it was a color that meant balance and harmony, unity and sanctuary. It covered everything, like the Mol’s red back home. Tables and chairs, horsebacks and floors. And people. Beautiful designs woven across robes and pants and tunics, encasing arms_ _white_ _-scaled_ _as well as black_ _._ _Something she had never seen before_ _excepting her own reflection_ _._

_Would these people know her? Recognize her? Would they be able to tell her from where she came, and from whom?_

_S_ _he remembered herself a moon before, sitting by the river_ _with her friends_ _, smearing her arms, her legs, her neck and cheeks and horns with rich loam. She had lain out in the sun,_ _per instruction,_ _waiting for it to dry and harden,_ _all of them_ _waiting_ _with bated breath_ _for the transformation it would bring. She remembered her_ _secret, keen_ _disappointmen_ _t_ _when, later that eve, the water from her bath had washed away_ _their_ _efforts so easily._

 _No more, she thought, as she clutched Tem_ _u_ _lun’s hand in her own tiny one_ _and_ _they passed under a familiar archway bracketed by matanga tusks. N_ _o_ _more_ _loam,_ _n_ _o_ _r_ _ashes, nor ink_ _for her scales_ _._ _N_ _o_ _more_ _hood_ _s_ _to cover_ _her_ _horns._ _No more targeted threats to_ _her loved ones’_ _safety for the sole Raen girl in their midst._

 _No more reminders that while she was not Xaela, she_ _**was** _ _Au Ra._

 _In_ _her young eyes,_ _the color purple_ _meant belonging._

“Perhaps,” she edged, and accompanied her response with a carefree shrug. Hien’s brow perked with his curiosity. The frequency of the gesture almost made her smile.

“You do not know?”

“I was adopted into the Mol as a baby,” she explained, her gaze finding the clan’s village in the distance, still lit from within with the warm light of bonfires. “Then, when I was seven, I was given to the Malaguld, as a means to ensure I would not...stick out, quite so much on the Steppe. The Mol were already regular targets of the more aggressive clans. My being among them only made the eyes on their backs larger, hungrier. Like wolves preying on sheep.” She recalled Cirina’s words.

“And you were a lamb with white horns,” Hien interjected, and gave her a light smile. Odzaya snorted at his quip.

“So I was.”

“Then no one ever told you your origins.”

“No. I suspected some might know, but I never inquired much, to be honest.” She shrugged easily. “While the differences between myself and the others may have bothered me as a child, as time passed, it no longer seemed to matter as much. I was hardly the only person in the world without parents or a known history, and though I may not have shared a story with any of those who raised or grew with me, we shared a home. That came to be enough. They were my family, both clans, and I would do my utmost to protect them.”

“And so you entered the Naadam,” Hien concluded. It was not a question; nevertheless, Odzaya nodded.

“We had experienced raids since I was a child. Every time, we lost something, be it our possessions or our livestock, our homes or a person.” She brow dipped with the weight of old trepidation. “I grew sick of it. Sick of living in fear. Of being seen as weak.” She looked at Hien, and knew the look in her eye was just this side of ferine. “Lamb though I was, I had my horns. Eventually, I sought to learn to use them.”

“I can hardly fault you that.” Hien impressed her with a look of his own, his eyes glinting once, fiercely, under the starlight. “I often felt the same as a boy, locked away in the palace, a gilded cage of the Empire’s make. A bird with clipped talons.”

Odzaya smirked. “So you sharpened them with a sword.” On a whim, she reached out, around the bend of his knee, to tap a slender finger on the hilt of his katana at rest between them. “They seem to be serving you well now.” He chuckled.

“That they are. I greatly anticipate using them to capacity in Doma.” He gave her a bracing smile. “And from the prowess I’ve seen, I am sure your horns became rather sharp, as well.”

“They did,” she confirmed. “Figuratively as well as literally.” He laughed, and she continued. “I started practicing swordplay on my own around the age of twelve. Poorly. Then Organa found me out and set me on the proper path.”

“The Malaguld’s khatun?” Hien smartly recalled. “She certainly seems a formidable woman.”

“At the time, she was still only a hunter, though one of our best; after she discovered my secret interest, she took it upon herself to train me, if only so I wouldn’t accidentally kill myself. She periodically took me on her trips out into the wilderness to procure the clan’s meals, and used those trips as her lessons. She taught me how to properly care for armor and weaponry, to inspect for damage or wear, to be cognizant of the effects my wielding could have, both good and bad.” Odzaya chuckled. “All before she ever let me actually use anything, mind you.”

“The role Organa played in your life is sounding increasingly like the role Gosetsu played in mine,” Hien commented, shifting his cross-legged stance and lacing his fingers in his lap. “He taught me, too, the arts of war. My father asked him to, as a means to simultaneously occupy my time, temper my apparently boundless energies, and teach me discipline.” He shrugged his scarred shoulders. “Obviously, he would have done so himself, but balancing both the kingdom and the Empire’s grip on it understandably took precedence.” He smiled. “At the time, of course, I did not comprehend the scope of such politics. All I knew was that my father was the greatest samurai in Othard, renowned for his bladework. If he would not teach me, I declared, no one would.”

“Well, well. And how’d that work out for the little master Shun?” Odzaya asked, raising her brows at him expectantly. Hien shot her a mock scowl, reminded of the closely-guarded secret she was made privy to that first night after their official introduction. Then it melted into something sheepish.

“Spectacularly, once I finally managed to surface from the pond Gosetsu tossed me into in reply.” Odzaya chuckled.

“Saw that one coming.”

“If only you had been there to share your foresight,” he said. “Was Organa’s handling of you equally as rigorous?”

“Well, she never threw me anywhere, if that’s what you’re asking,” she quipped. “She was tough, but fair. Strict when she felt she needed to be, but forgiving of my mistakes, and always willing to lend an ear to listen or a shoulder to lean on.”

“You sound close,” Hien commented with a smile. Odzaya returned it.

“She is my sister, as much as she was my mentor. In truth, I had hoped she would participate in the Naadam with me. It seemed almost obvious to me that she should. Even after I began hunting on my own and overcame Bardam’s Mettle, I still saw her as the best we had.” Her smile sobered. “If anyone could have changed our lives for the better, alleviated the fear we lived under, t’would have been her.”

_The hollow of her horns rang. High above, silhouetted against a dusky sky, their yol circled, surveying the surrounding land for more prey. Their current catch, a pair of wandering baras, had breathed their last long ago, their tusks gleaming with a morbid beauty in the dying sunlight. She could already imagine the work ahead, the skinning, deboning, and tanning that would be done upon their return._

_For the first time, n_ _one of it mattered._ _Only the rejection that echoed between them, caught between their locked gazes. “What?” she finally asked, and felt shame as her voice came out hoarse with shock._

_Organa sighed, her glowing-ember gaze amused. “You heard me.”_

_Odzaya’s heart sank. “But why not?”_

“ _Because,” she began, approaching their quarry. With a light grunt, she flipped one baras over and kneeled, inspecting its hide for damage. “I am tired.”_

“ _Tired?” she echoed. “Of what?”_

“ _Clans,”_ _her sister_ _answered simply. “_ _Rules, rituals.”_ _Od_ _zaya shook her head, watching her work._

“ _I do not understand.”_

“ _Mother is_ _getting older_ _,”_ _Organa declared suddenly. She tapped a tusk’s tip with her finger,_ _nodded with satisfaction_ _. “She has thus decided it time for me to consider taking her place in earnest. For the_ _p_ _ast three moons, I_ _ha_ _ve_ _spent my mornings, afternoons, and eves_ _in the_ _main_ _yurt, listening to the oh-so-wise prattle of our elders.” Th_ _at_ _amusement in her eyes turned exasperated. “Gods know I love them, but_ _ **they**_ _love to talk. About history, about_ _hierarchies,_ _about the unpatched holes in the roof_ _._ _About everything and nothing.” She gust_ _ed_ _out a breath strong enough to riffle the fur under her_ _inspecting_ _fingers. “_ _I_ _leave those walls_ _yearning for_ _one_ _thing: to get away._ _Gather_ _my_ _bow_ _, grab_ _my_ _yol_ _, and go hunt.” She looked up at her. “I am tired. And now_ _ **you**_ _bring_ _ **this**_ _up.” Her tone held no_ _serious_ _accusation; nevertheless,_ _Od_ _zaya felt_ _the_ _sting_ _of something like it_ _._

“ _Do they not also gather to discuss routes for the clan to take to best avoid_ _trouble_ _? To take stock of our resources in the case that we’re pillaged? Plan funeral rites in advance for those we will inevitably lose to both?”_

_Organa sighed. “Dzaya–”_

“ _Are you not_ _tired_ _of_ _hearing_ _that, as well? I am.”_ _The older woman lifted her brow, a_ _smirk_ _forming_ _._

“ _You’ve been eavesdropping.” Her brow rose higher. “Again.” Another non-accusation. Odzaya boldly straightened her spine, inclining her head stiffly._

“ _Yes.” Organa chuckled._

“ _I thought I saw a shadow lingering around the yurt’s entr_ _y_ _-way. Should have known it was not_ _the_ _stray_ _muu shuwuu_ _it_ _looked_ _like_ _,” she said,_ _playfully_ _referencing the younger woman’s_ _pink_ _hair,_ _fairly glowing_ _in the orange of dusk._ _Od_ _zaya pursed her lips._

“ _This is serious, Gana. We are courting disaster. Entire clans have been lost to the recent goings-on, and we are on the road to becoming next. We all know it. We have to do something.”_

 _Organa’s smile dropped, and she finally returned to her full height._ _“_ _And by ‘something’, you mean pa_ _rticipate in the Naadam_ _,” she_ _concluded_ _._ _Od_ _zaya nodded determinedly._

“ _We’_ _ve_ _tried negotiations over the years, yes? The more powerful clans_ _have_ _laughed at us; the neutral ones_ _have_ _show_ _n_ _us little more than pity. What option is left but to fight for_ _our survival_ _?”_

“ _So you would have us go to war for our peace.”_ _Org_ _ana crossed her arms, humorous pretense diminished to near nothing, her gaze penetrating._ _Od_ _zaya met it with her own._

“ _Is that not the way of the Steppe?” she challenged in turn. Organa smirked._

“ _Aye, though I always hoped to avoid falling prey to it.”_

“ _We’re already prey, Gana,_ _”_ _Od_ _zaya_ _argued_ _. “_ _S_ _cavengers on our own lands,_ _hunting_ _for scraps with our tails between our legs like pack_ _s_ _of starving gedan._ _” She clenched her fists, summers’ worth of_ _fear and_ _anger rising like bile in her belly. “_ _The_ _Naadam has been used_ _for epochs_ _to take our_ _livelihood_ _from us. Why should we not use it in turn to take it back?!”_ _She took a breath and let it out, swore it came out hot like steam from a whistling kettle, or a dragon’s maw._

“ _And what of numbers?” Organa came back. “You would have the refugees among us take up arms_ _they_ _do not_ _have_ _,_ _and_ _fight another potentially losing battle for freedom?_ _T_ _he same kind that took their families and friends away from them_ _once before_ _?”_

“ _I would not ask them to fight_ _if they did not wish to_ _,”_ _Od_ _zaya said_ _. “So many of them have weathered enough conflict, enough violence. The Naadam is not theirs to win. Rather, it_ _sh_ _ould be…” she_ _paused_ _._ _Met Organa’s steady gaze with her own trembling, and knew she heard her._

“ _Ours,” her sister_ _finished for her_ _._ _Let out a gusty breath of humor as she looked away. “Of course.”_

“ _You’re one of the best warriors on the Steppe,”_ _Odz_ _aya said. “And you taught me. And I’ve been training,_ _far more than you think.”_ _She hesitated for a moment before continuing. “_ _The others say–_ _”_

“ _That you’re special?_ _” Organa_ _interrupted, knowingly_ _._ _Od_ _zaya’s mouth snapped shut,_ _lips pursing tightly with surprise._ _Organa smirked. “Do not think you’re the only one who can hide in the shadows, little muu. I have heard all about your burgeoning reputation as a_ _supposed_ _chosen of Azim._ _”_

 _H_ _eat bloomed in_ _the younger girl’s_ _cheeks,_ _blessedly hidden by her scales and dark skin,_ _and she briefly dropped her gaze to the ground,_ _embarrassed_ _. “They are not my words.”_

 _Organa chuckled. “I know.” She met her eyes, her own curious. “Is that why you_ _so desperately_ _wish to participate in the Naadam all of a sudden? Because you’ve convinced_ _yourself_ _that you are blessed?”_

“ _Of course not,”_ _Od_ _zaya denied with a fervent shake of her head. “But regardless of whether it is true or not, could not the belief alone grant us an advantage? Maybe some of the clans will feel too threatened to fight!”_

“ _You are playing with the Sun’s fire,_ _D_ _zaya,” Organa said, her brow_ _knitting_ _severely. “The stronger clans will not take kindly to talk of some Raen girl toting herself as a daughter of the Dawn Father. The Oronir_ _especially_ _will be quick to prove your claims false, especially when one of their sons is claiming the same.”_

 _ **Magnai.**_ _Odz_ _aya failed, she knew, to keep the_ _scowl_ _completely off of her face as she thought of_ _the_ _arrogant young prince_ _ling_ _with whom she_ _had often_ _clashed._ _“I could take him,” she_ _boldly_ _declared. “_ _I’ve done it before.”_

“ _Aye, but what of his followers? Could you take them? Could_ _ **we**_ _, the two of us, alone against the brunt of thirty_ _or more_ _other warriors, all vying for your light-blessed blood?”_

“ _At least we could try!” she burst out, frustration making the words echo through the dry air between them. She almost immediately regretted it,_ _her tail reflexively lashing about her ankles_ _with agitation_ _,_ _and she_ _cautiously eye_ _d_ _her elder sister_ _for her reaction._

 _Organa, to her surprise,_ _merely_ _smil_ _ed_ _and huff_ _ed_ _a laugh_ _._ _She shook her head, and the motion was that of fondness._ _“_ _You always were a dreamer,”_ _she murmured._ _The amused_ _affection_ _wrapped around the statement_ _, just this side of teasing,_ _made_ _Od_ _zaya’s_ _cheeks warm_ _once more_ _,_ _though it allowed her to regain her composure. She straightened._

“ _This isn’t just a dream, Gana.” This was not her sitting by the_ _river_ _,_ _a child smearing_ _rich_ _loam_ _onto her horn_ _s and_ _praying in vain for a miracle_ _. “This is something real, that we can make_ _happen_ _.”_

“ _Mm,_ _”_ _the woman_ _intonated. “_ _So you say.” Her smile diminished. “But at wh_ _at_ _cost_ _?”_

 _Odz_ _aya_ _fell silent._ _Organa_ _pressed._

“ _To participate in the Naadam, a clan must have the resources. ‘_ _Tis a privilege, and one_ _we do not_ _have_ _._ _Our khatun is growing old,” she_ _restated_ _. “_ _Our warriors are few. We both are two of them, and I_ _am her successor._ _If we_ _take part_ _, and lose, that leaves our clan with two less protectors, two less hunters, and no leader for the coming years.”_

“ _Then we proposition for additional warriors from other clans,” Odzaya suggested, regaining a foot, or so she thought. “Surely, they would join us, yes?”_

“ _At risk of putting themselves in the same vulnerable position? Risking their warriors, their sons and daughters, what fragile stability they have?” Organa shook her head, her expression still fond, if more somber. “That is not going to happen, Odzaya,” she said._

“ _But–” She tried once more._

“ _I will be khatun,”_ _her sister_ _continued, cutting her off. “Sooner than I would like. And_ _I must begin making decisions for the good of our clan. The ins and outs_ _of every_ _rule_ _, the ups and downs_ _of every choice_ _. What is worth risking, and what is not.” With_ _suddenly_ _sharp, unyielding eyes, the eyes that made her a warrior,_ _a leader,_ _she met_ _Od_ _zaya’s_ _gaze, and the younger woman felt her_ _stomach drop_ _abruptly_ _to her feet with her_ _heart and hope_ _. “The well-being of our clan,_ _of all our clans,_ _is not worth risking. My succession is not worth risking._ _Your_ _ **life**_ _,_ _Odzaya,_ _is not worth risking.” She shoo_ _k_ _her head once more. “Not for a dream, however sweet.”_

 _S_ _ilence_ _stood_ _between them,_ _then,_ _at the end as it had at the beginning,_ _broken only by a stiff breeze and the shriek of their yol, a confirmation of_ _newly_ _discovered prey,_ _and_ _then the buffet of powerful wings as they descended._ _S_ _he_ _watched Organa tie and truss up their quarry,_ _then silently_ _secured a baras corpse_ _to_ _and mounted her yol,_ _giving_ _his mane a stroke when he chirped with concern._

 _The entire trip home, she kept her_ _fingers_ _buried_ _in his bountiful feathers,_ _hoping_ _to stop their shaking._

“I imagine she had her reasons for choosing not to participate,” Hien ventured. Odzaya nodded, slowly, momentarily afloat in old disappointment.

“She did.” She shrugged, regrounding herself with the motion, and smiled with a shake of her head. “Nothing I wanted to understand at the time; too young, too stubborn. All I knew was that, between us, we had the power to make a difference. To make peace happen. To make dreams come true.” She let out a quiet, calming breath, then chuckled and looked down at her feet, idly kicking her legs against the air. “Or at least my own.”

“And what was your dream?” She looked up. Hien watched her, his gaze unexpectedly soft. Odzaya took a breath and looked back down.

“A land with no suffering,” she said, quietly. “A land where children could laugh, and none need live in fear of what tomorrow could bring.” Strangely self-conscious, she wrinkled her nose and sniffed lightly, then turned her sights up to the stars. “It seemed like something worth fighting for. Even if I had to fight for it alone.”

“So you did,” Hien asserted.

“So I did,” she confirmed. Then she huffed out a laugh. “And soundly lost.”

“The Naadam you spoke of eight years past, during which Magnai came away the victor,” Hien recalled, his face lighting briefly with realization. “T’was the same Naadam that you participated in, yes?”

Why did it feel like she was revealing some long-withheld secret as she nodded? “Turned out Gana had been right to refuse,” she confirmed. She shot him a brief smile. “Should have known, looking back. She’s never been wrong about anything.”

“Would knowing have stopped you from trying?” Hien asked.

“Probably not.” She chuckled once more. “Such is the way of a dreamer, I suppose. Or a fool. Every possible odd stacked against you, and all the world telling you not to bother, and still you feel you must at least-”

“Try,” Hien finished for her, and smiled, the gentility in his eyes magnified by the starlight seeping into their depths. It was a gaze not of sympathy, but empathy. Understanding.

Her heart thumped, once, hard as Bardam’s fist against her rib cage.

 _When she fell from the Dawn Throne, the wind that should have stormed past, igniting the hollow_ _space_ _of her horns, was little more than a whispered breeze. The short, sharp shriek of her yol as the arrow pierced his heart_ _and he fell_ _headlong beside_ _her_ _seemed little more than a small whimper. The_ _clamor_ _of_ _those_ _below_ _, of Organa screaming her name, w_ _ere_ _a murmur,_ _heard_ _at a thousand m_ _a_ _lms’ distance_ _._

 _H_ _er descent_ _was_ _marked by Magnai’s grim mien and Daidukul’s savage grin as he lowered his bow. She w_ _ondered what they saw. An opponent defeated. A pest removed. A star_ _once_ _claim_ _ing_ _to be the sun_ _now_ _setting_ _,_ _and_ _b_ _urning away_ _her_ _dreams_ _in_ _its_ _wake._

 _When her body hit the ground,_ _the pain was strangely muted_ _._ _H_ _er skin_ _ripped_ _, her muscles_ _tore. H_ _er bones shatter_ _ed_ _, arms, legs, and ribs. Her spine was like a twig, so easily did_ _it_ _give against the earth,_ _and_ _the resounding crack of her skull,_ _the snap of her horns breaking,_ _resounded through her head like a hammer on_ _stone._

_A would-be star fallen back to earth, where it had always belonged._

_Her vision whited out, her breath hitched with the puncture and subsequent collapse of her lungs._ _Her heart_ _ceased_ _with a last, desperate pulse_ _._ _And yet_ _,_ _she was told later,_ _her eyes remained clear._ _Locked on the sky_ _as if_ _in a trance, as if they saw something._ _As if_ _merely_ _day_ _dreaming, even as her body went cold._

_Which made it slightly less surprising when, moments and a small eternity later, her heart resumed its beating once more._

“Do you regret what happened that day of the rebellion?” she asked suddenly, unable to resist the inquiry as they stared at one another, as she pondered whether or not her interpretation of the look in his eyes was correct.

Hien blinked once, then smiled bittersweetly. “That depends,” he said, and lifted his gaze to the stars. “Do I regret the ease with which we were overrun? Yes. My lack of experience, my failing strength? Yes.” He took a deep breath, and when he next spoke, the pain in his voice sounded like sand caught in the back of his throat. “Do I regret the lives lost? Of course. My own stubbornness, my insistence that the fight continue even after my father fell and our forces were scattered? Yes.” He paused, lowering his chin, his gaze aimed at a middle distance she suspected led to a battlefield. “But do I regret that day in itself, joining my father and my fellow samurai and fighting for what I knew to be our dream, fools though we mayhap were for pursuing it?” His focus returned and he leveled it on her, and within its gentleness was a glittering steel that reminded her distinctly of his blade. “No,” he declared, quiet but firm. “I cannot say that I do.”

The line of her back hurt again. Odzaya shifted minutely in a vain attempt to alleviate the ache, then started in surprise when Hien suddenly chuckled. “What is funny?” she asked.

“My father,” Hien answered, surprising her again. “He used to say that one cannot fulfill any dream alone; there is always another, sometime, somewhere, whose presence or actions, no matter how small, aided in its actualization.” He laughed again, then deepened his voice in what she assumed to be an imitation. “‘One of this star’s great truths’, he insisted it was! ‘And a good ruler never forgets it’.”

Odzaya smiled softly. “Your father sounds very wise.”

“Aye, he is. Was.” He smiled back, then cleared his throat gracefully. When next he spoke, the sand had been swept away, leaving only the natural warm rasp of his voice behind. “Thus why I am here, pursuing what has been so deemed as impossible. ‘Tis the least I can do for those we lost.”

“And those we can yet save,” she finished reflexively. He gave her a confused look. “You sound like a friend,” she explained.

“A beautiful saying,” he said admirably. “Your friend sounds very wise, as well.”

“She was,” she said, in unintentional mimicry, and that heart-achingly gentle look returned to his face in response.

“Did she have dreams of saving the world, as well?”

“She did. It’s why the Scions exist. Why we’re here, in essence.”

“Well,” Hien said. “Full glad am I for her generous aid, then, as well as yours.”

“Are you sure?” she questioned him suddenly, a smirk finding its way onto her lips. “No qualms with accepting the aid of a supposedly gods-blessed usurper who seduced her way onto a throne after failing to claim it legitimately through warfare?”

“A fair question,” Hien remarked, his expression brightening. “Do you have qualms with aiding a foreign prince arrogant enough to insert himself into a series of sacred rites in hopes of procuring an army with which to liberate the homeland he himself failed to protect?”

She giggled. Could not help herself, as the absurdity of both their situations dawned on her. “Sorry,” she said, going to cover her mouth, remembering her earlier folly with the Buduga trio. “Poor habit.”

Hien managed to surprise her once more as he answered by letting out a laugh himself, deep enough to jostle her slightly as his shoulders shook. “You are certainly one of a kind, my friend,” he declared. “Of that, there is no doubt. I can see why the Buduga and Oronir find you so intimidating.”

She cleared her throat, slightly embarrassed. “Hardly,” she replied, with a light roll of her eyes. On another whim, she pushed her shoulder lightly against his for his jest, and smiled when he laughed again.

She had never iterated her story to anyone, she realized then. Not even to the Scions, who had only recently even learned her true name. How strange that, guided by a fit a nostalgia here in the middle of her long-ago homeland, she would share it with someone who, for all intents and purposes, still counted as a stranger.

A stranger, who seemed to understand only too well what guided her, fool dreamer that she was.

As they calmed, Hien smiled down at her, and his warmth she felt through her sleeve was reflected ten-fold in his eyes. “T’would be an honor to have you at my side in our fight for freedom, my friend,” he said, his expression sweet as boortsog. “I do not believe I can imagine anyone else, in truth.” His grin turned toothy as he returned her previous motion and gently returned her gesture of touching his shoulder to hers. “Questionable repute notwithstanding.”

“I assume that means I will be able to count on your support, then, when the Buduga inevitably bring forth their claims against me to the other clans?” she asked, half sarcastic. The prince chuckled.

“Rest assured that my word and blade will be yours to use against your detractors if they are so needed.” He sealed his declaration with the respectful lowering of his chin to his chest, another jesting display that somehow managed to convey sincerity all the same. “On my honor as your comrade and a warrior of the Mol, dear khagun.”

“Then it is only fair, I suppose, to pledge my stave to you in turn, as fellow warrior and khagun,” she offered. “At least until your country is yours again.” With a mild flourish of her fingers, her stave materialized in hand, its polished wood and delicate filigree gleaming under the moonlight. She held it out before them and waited, pleased when Hien understood enough to grab his blade, his expression curious. As he held it out to mimic her own, she tapped her weapon to his, the silver filigree marking her stave pinging satisfactorily off of the gold lining his sheath. “A gesture of fellowship,” she explained, “and promise of solidarity. At least until this dream of yours is fulfilled, we walk in crimson together.” _After all, you did help me fulfill mine._

“Another beautiful gesture, and one I take deeply to heart,” Hien said. His eyes fair sparkled. “I look forward to seeing the hosts of Garlean soldiers that will be running from your wind, rocks, and quality boulders.” Her answering grin was wide.

“Only the best for those I threaten to squish.”

 _S_ _he st_ _ood_ _on a precipice,_ _as she had when it all ended_ _. Her bones still ache_ _d_ _with the process of healing, her horns only having regrown most of their tips in the last_ _several_ _moons. It hurt to walk, to bend, to sit, and the daggers, the bow that were once extensions of her self, now sh_ _ook_ _within the hold of her hands._

 _And yet she lived. Against all odds, against the_ _land itself_ _, she breathed._

“ _Why?” she_ _had_ _asked Temulun. Her old khatun_ _has_ _smiled with a wisdom fit for a goddess._

“ _Star do not fade before first casting their light. Travelers cannot depart from a destination they have not reached.” Her smile_ _had_ _deepened. “Dreamers will never fully wake from a dream that has not been fulfilled.”_

 _W_ _hen she_ _had_ _held out her hand, Odzaya_ _had_ _felt no choice but to approach. Her spine_ _had_ _protested with every step, and more so when she_ _had_ _crouched near Temulun’s chair. She_ _had_ _closed her eyes in relief when the older woman’s hand_ _had_ _found her brow, cool to the touch against the heat of her forehead, already perspiring from the exhaustion of merely walking the_ _several_ _fulms she had. “I am hardly in a state to travel, eji,” she_ _had_ _said with a self-deprecating smile._

 _Temulun’s eyes_ _crinkled_ _. “So you say, my dear.”_

“ _Magnai said he does not wish to marry me,” she had blurted suddenly, her skin itching for reasons for reasons she could not name. “That I should leave_ _here_ _._ _Leave the Steppe._ _”_

 _Temulun rubbed her fingers against_ _her_ _diadem of scales,_ _soothing. “He sees you for what you are. Even his eyes, so taken by the light of the Sun, cannot deny the truth.”_

“ _What truth?” she had asked._

“ _That you are no moon, my dear, however beautiful,” Temulun had said. “You shine on your own, brighter than any_ _jewel, any_ _singular body.”_

 _S_ _he had swallowed hard. “Maybe once, eji. Not_ _now_ _.” And then laughed,_ _the sound_ _choked_ _quiet_ _with tears. “I cannot even fly, anymore.”_

_Again Temulun had smiled. “So you say, my dear.”_

“ _What should I do?” she had asked,_ _suddenly, feeling lost, like the tiny Raen girl she once had been, unknowing of her origins._ _ **No beginning**_ _, she had thought._ _ **And now no end.**_ _“Can you tell me? Can the gods?”_

“ _The gods are always speaking, Odzaya,” her eji had said, then,_ _and her eyes had fairly glowed with love._ _“You are better equipped to hear them than you think.”_

 _She stood on a precipice,_ _as she had at the end_ _._ _But the end of what?_ _An engagement, a season, an era. A dream, never fulfilled._

 _But m_ _aybe not herself, as she_ _had_ _originally thought._

 _In the corners of her mind, she heard a voice, quiet and gentl_ _e_ _._ _**Come**_ _, it said, and when she sought its origin, she found herself facing the direction of the far-distant sea._

 _She stood on a precipice, as she had at the end._ _This time, she would not fall, she would_ _consciously_ _leap._

_Leap, and let herself dream again._


End file.
